Mirror, Mirror On The Wall
by Girl in a White Dress
Summary: He asked me to go with him, but I couldn't. He was everything I wanted but his life was the complete opposite of everything I believed in. He knew I would stay, like he knew I would let him go. COMPLETE!
1. one

Title: Mirror, Mirror On The Wall

Author: Melanie-Anne (melani_anne@yahoo.com)

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to Thomas Harris, anything else is mine.

Summary: "He asked me to go with him, but I couldn't. He was everything I wanted but his life was the complete opposite of everything I believed in. He knew I would stay, like he knew I would let him go."

* * *

Emma Starling looked in the mirror and saw herself as if for the first time. The face staring back at her was as unfamiliar as any passerby on the street.

She thought of all the times she'd asked about her father. In sixteen years, all her mother had told her was that his name was Henry and he was dead. Now, thinking back, she realized she should have known her mother was lying. But she'd been told often enough to believe it, and had developed a fantasy of the kind of man her father had been. How he had swept her mother off her feet just like in a fairytale. How he had been good and perfect and romantic.

Henry. She should have known. Her mother would never have fallen in love with someone called Henry.

There was no grave. That had always bothered her. Cremation, her mother had said, but she had wondered then why her grandfather and the Uncle John her mother always spoke about weren't cremated too.

She raised a hand to her face and slowly outlined her features, trying to attribute them to a parent. Her cheekbones were high, like her mother's. They had the same shape eyes, the same thick hair, only hers was jet black, unlike her mother's fiery red.

Jet black, like her father's. Real and imagined.

She'd found out by accident. Today, coming down the stairs, she had found her mother curled up in an armchair, crying. A newspaper was open on the coffeetable. The _Tattler_. It had surprised her; her mother hated the _Tattler_, called it trash and refused to buy it. She had slowly crossed the room. The newspaper was dated almost seventeen years earlier, to the day. A headline screamed CLARICE STARLING! THE FBI'S KILLING MACHINE! Then she remembered it was the anniversary of her Uncle John's death. She picked up the paper to read more, surprised that her mother didn't object. Underneath it was another newspaper, older than the first. BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN! the _Tattler_ proclaimed.

Curiosity killed the cat, she thought morbidly, and half-wished she hadn't read further. But she had always been too inquisitive for her own good. When she had seen the picture of Hannibal Lecter, she had known. Jet black hair, so like her own. Startling maroon eyes, just like hers.

Bride of Frankenstein.

Child of Frankenstein.

She glanced down at her left hand, a faint scar visible from a long ago operation. An extra finger, removed at birth. Her mother didn't like to talk about it; now she knew why.

She had dropped the newspapers and run upstairs, locking the bedroom door behind her. Her mother hadn't followed, probably too lost in her own thoughts. She wasn't sure whether to be angry or excited or scared. Her mother had lied to her, yes, but probably to protect her.

She wondered if her father even knew she existed.

She wondered what her friends would say, and dismissed the thought instantly. This was something she could never share with anybody.

There was a knock at the door. Slowly, she got up and went to let her mother in.

"Emma—"

She sat on the edge of her bed and stared at her hands. There was a side to her mother that she'd never dreamed had existed, a side to herself that was so new and unfamiliar, but not altogether unwelcome. Now she understood why people always regarded her as a little peculiar, now there was an explanation for her unusually high intelligence and her fascination with morbidity. The _Tattler_ had said her father was insane; she wondered if that was hereditary too. Suddenly there were so many questions she needed answered.

"Did you love him?" she asked.

Clarice sighed, then nodded.

"What happened?"

There was a familiar sadness in her mother's eyes. "He asked me to go with him, but I couldn't. He was everything I wanted but his life was the complete opposite of everything I believed in. He knew I would stay, like he knew I would let him go."

"Weren't you scared?"

"At first. I had no idea what I was getting into when I agreed to interview him. But I knew he wouldn't hurt me."

"Like Beauty and the Beast." She couldn't help romanticizing it; after all, she was living proof. "Does he know about me?"

"I don't know. I haven't heard from him since he left. I don't know where he went or if he's even still alive."

"Do you miss him?"

"Every day."

She glanced at the mirror again, the resemblance now so obvious. "Does anybody know?"

"Only your Aunt Ardelia. She never said anything, but she cried when you were born. I couldn't tell anyone else. They wouldn't understand."

Emma shifted closer to her mother and slipped an arm around her waist. She leaned her head against her mother's shoulder. _Bride of Frankenstein._ _Child of Frankenstein._ _Beauty and the Beast._ It occurred to her that any normal person would be horrified to find themselves in this position.

"I think," Emma said, "He couldn't have been all bad if you fell in love with him. You wouldn't fall in love with just anybody."

Clarice relaxed slightly. "I had expected a different reaction from you."

"I'm not just anybody either."

"No. No, you're not." She brushed Emma's hair back from her face, smiling. "And I wouldn't trade you for anything in the world. Not in a thousand years."

Emma looked up at her mother and smiled. "Tell me everything. From the very first day."

"I don't know . . . it's not a very pleasant story."

"Mom! I'm sixteen. I'm not a baby." Emma rolled her eyes; for an instant she was an ordinary teenager again. "And I know he killed people. I don't want those details. I want to know how you fell in love."

"Alright." Clarice smiled. "It began when Jack Crawford asked me to interview him . . ."

As she spoke, Emma closed her eyes and pictured her father standing there. In the end, he wasn't all that far from her fantasy father; incredibly intelligent, handsome and devoted to her mother. Emma Lecter, she thought, child of Frankenstein.

But then, she had never really wanted to be ordinary.

* * *


	2. two

A/N: Part 2, for everyone who asked so nicely. And now my muse has hijacked the story and won't give it back. So sit back, get comfy, 'cause heaven only knows how long this ride will be ::grin:: Disclaimer in part 1.

* * *

"I want to meet him," Emma said. A week had passed since she'd discovered her father's identity, a week of excitement and fear and something Emma didn't recognize. A kind of restlessness within her.

Clarice Starling choked on her mouthful of coffee, raising a hand to her mouth to keep from spitting it out. "What?"

"I want to meet my father."

Clarice closed her eyes and sighed. "Em, I haven't seen or heard from him since, well, since the night you were conceived."

"Don't you think he deserves to know he has a daughter?" Emma bit her lip, suddenly struck by a thought. "He won't, you know, want to kill me, will he?"

"Of course not."

"Well then, where's the harm in it? Surely he must have left you some way to contact him?"

Clarice shook her head. "We knew that night would have to be the last. He gave me the choice to go with him, but I couldn't. And then I found out I was pregnant and knew I'd made the wrong decision. But it was too late."

Emma was not one to give up so easily. "You could find him if you really wanted to." She raised her chin, challenging her mother to deny it.

"Emma."

"You said you still missed him. Was that a lie?"

"No." Clarice spoke so softly that Emma thought she had imagined it.

"Do you still love him?"

There was a flash of pain in Clarice's eyes, and Emma had her answer. She smiled in triumph. "I bet he'd love to see you again."

"Enough, Emma. Leave it alone. I can't talk about this right now." Clarice stood, picking up the coffee cups. Emma watched her mother leave the room, her head tilted to one side, her eyes narrowed. She would respect her mother's wishes, to a point; she wouldn't talk about it anymore. But she wouldn't leave it alone.

* * *

Clarice was pleased to see that Emma had dropped the subject of her father. She had never intended for Emma to find out the truth, certain that the news would do more harm than good. To her surprise, Emma had taken it well. Almost too well. Clarice was waiting for her to break down, uncomfortably close to a breakdown of her own.

She had known, when she found out she was pregnant, that it was going to be hard. There had been no question about keeping the baby; in leaving her, Hannibal Lecter had given her the one thing she had always wanted most: a family.

When Emma was born, Clarice had cried; tears of joy and tears of pain. How she wished that he had been there to share the moment with her. And Ardelia had held her hand and congratulated her, crying tears of her own, but she hadn't judged. Clarice had smiled gratefully and known she couldn't ask for a better friend.

And now, now that Emma knew the truth, Clarice had no idea what to do.

Did she still love him? Did she want to see him? Yes and yes, she thought, but at what cost? She supposed she could find him, if she worked at it. But there was no way to search without being found out, and Clarice had no desire to lead her colleagues to the father of her child.

She closed her eyes and buried her face in her hands. She'd meant what she'd said to Emma; she wouldn't trade her for anything in the world. She just wished things had turned out slightly differently.

Not a day passed without Clarice wondering what would have happened if she'd gone with him. The day they'd met, she had known her life would never be the same, but she hadn't realized just how much Lecter would affect her.

Seventeen years later she could still feel his touch, could still taste his kiss, could remember the finality of his "Goodbye, Clarice."

She brushed away the tears, hating herself for crying, for missing him, for letting him leave without her.

Some of our stars are the same, he'd once told her. But what did it help, she thought, when the stars were so far away?

* * *

Emma waited until she was sure her mother was asleep before she logged onto the Internet. Hacking into the FBI's mainframe was surprisingly easy; she didn't even need the codes she'd sneaked from Clarice's files.

She read with interest the accounts of Hannibal Lecter's crimes, his subsequent capture, and the trial. When she came to Miggs' death, she leaned back in her chair, chewing on her bottom lip.

He killed for her, she thought. Instead of being disgusted, as most people would be, Emma smiled and read further. Someone had helpfully scanned in the pictures he'd drawn of Clarice, and Emma's smile widened. Though they were reduced in size and clarity, they were still beautiful. She reached up to touch the screen, her fingers outlining the images.

Daddy, where are you now? she thought.

There was a noise from the hall. Emma quickly opened up another window.

"Em, you still up?" Clarice asked, opening the door a crack.

"Yeah. I'm downloading some music." She turned and smiled at her mother.

"Well, don't stay up too late, 'kay?"

Emma nodded. "Sure, Mom."

She breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed and turned back to the computer. The accounts of the Fish Market shooting told Emma nothing she didn't already know, but it was followed by the OPR hearing and the circumstances surrounding Clarice's suspension.

Emma sat bolt upright. "Now, this is interesting," she said to herself. At last, there was a possible way to contact her father. All she had to do was decide what she wanted to say. 

She shut the computer down but was too excited to go to bed. She grabbed a notepad and a pen and started composing a message.

__

A. A. Aaron . . .


	3. three

In seventeen years, not one day had passed without Hannibal Lecter thinking of Clarice. He had known that they would only have that one night together and when she had told him she couldn't go with him, he had respected her wishes.

Because he loved her.

It was true then, and has been true every day since. He'd left without looking back and had resisted the temptation to check up on her. He had disappeared; knowing all he would have of her was what lived in his memory palace.

Sometimes he would lie awake at night, looking up at the stars, and he would think of a different sky, one long in the past. What had really happened had been far from what the newspapers reported . . .

. . . _Clarice entered the dining room, as beautiful as ever; still groggy from the morphine but awake enough to realize what Lecter was doing. She looked from him to Paul Krendler, her face growing increasingly pale. Lecter left Krendler's side to catch her as her legs gave out._

__

"You look lovely, Clarice."

__

She said nothing, and meekly allowed him to guide her to a chair.

__

"Helloooo, Clarice," Krendler said, drooling slightly as he spoke. "You look hot. Say, you want a job? You want to know how I'll give you a job—"

__

"Paul." Lecter's voice carried a warning. Krendler fell silent and stared, fascinated, into his bowl of soup.

__

"I'm hungry," he announced. Lecter fed him through a straw; he spat the soup out. "That's not very good, buddy."

"It's more for your sake than ours," Lecter said and calmly removed the top of Krendler's skull.

Clarice gasped. "Dr. Lecter—"

"Oh, don't worry, Clarice. The brain itself feels no pain. Paul won't even miss this little piece."

She shook her head in silent protest and watched as Lecter went about sautéing Krendler's prefrontal lobe. As horrifying as the sight was, Clarice couldn't look away. Lecter smiled and offered her a piece. Her eyes widened and she shook her head again. Lecter shrugged, and fed the piece to Krendler.

"I would really like some wine," Clarice stammered.

"Just a little." Lecter poured some into her glass. Her fingers were shaking too hard for her to hold it, so he held the glass to her lips. She took a small sip, her eyes never leaving his face. When he put the glass down, he brushed his fingers along her cheek, surprised at the gentle blush his touch elicited. He ran his thumb over her bottom lip. "Why did you come rescue me, Clarice? Surely not to turn me in again?"

She licked her lips, clearly off-balance. He liked seeing her this way; it made things more interesting. "I . . . I don't know."

"Yes, you do."

She closed her eyes, too late to hide the tear that had escaped. 

"Am I one of your lambs, Clarice?" He loved to say her name. Now, in her company, he would indulge himself. "Well, Clarice?"

"I don't know. Yes. No. I . . ." She hung her head forward.

Lecter raised her chin and simply looked at her for a moment. At the other end of the table, Krendler began to sing to himself. Lecter ignored him, and bent his head to Clarice's. Her lips were softer than he'd imagined. He felt more tears run down her cheeks, but she didn't pull away. When she parted her lips for a deeper kiss, Lecter lost himself in her.

Hannibal Lecter had never lost himself in a woman before, but it didn't surprise him that he could lose himself in this one. From the moment he'd met her, he'd known that Clarice Starling was no ordinary woman.

Krendler was forgotten. Dinner was forgotten. Nothing else existed beyond this moment and this woman.

Eventually, she pulled back and raised her eyes to meet his. He saw guilt in them, but he saw something else too, something he suspected was mirrored in his own eyes. He leaned in for another kiss.

"Hannibal," she whispered. It was the first time she'd called him by his first name. He liked the way it sounded coming from her lips. "I can't . . . please . . ."

"Give me one night, Clarice. I want to know what you taste like, I want to know what you feel like . . . One night, Clarice. That's all I'm asking, nothing more. One night and I'll be out of your life forever." Only for Clarice would he come this close to begging. His eyes held hers, maroon and blue, and the heat danced between them. He saw the indecision, and saw too the yearning.

She nodded. "One night."

They left Krendler in the dining room, amusing himself with songs. Lecter carried her up the stairs, mindful of the stitches in her shoulder, and into the master bedroom.

In the morning, Lecter came down to find Krendler dead. He left the body there, gathered what he needed for his escape, then went back upstairs. Clarice lay on her side, her back to the door, her breathing deep and even. "Goodbye, Clarice," he said.

Just before he left, he placed an anonymous 911 call. When the police arrived, he was long gone . . .

. . . Lecter reluctantly returned to the present and slowly blinked as the real world came back into focus. He looked down at the personal ad that had prompted this reverie. The wording intrigued him; it didn't feel like a trap. After all this time, had Clarice decided to make contact, he wondered. He shook his head, no. She would know better than to try communicating with him through a compromised channel like this.

Still, he thought, someone was trying to get in touch with him. The only question was who.

And why?


	4. four

Clarice Starling's disillusionment with the FBI had begun long before the mess surrounding the Drumgo shooting. Her career had started off so well; it was clear to almost everyone that Jack Crawford regarded her as his protegee. But she was not interested in politics and her good looks and smart attitude had counted against her in the long run.

That, and the fact that no one ever knew the truth regarding her and Hannibal Lecter. After the death of Paul Krendler and the events at his Chesapeake home, Clarice became a pariah of sorts. There was gossip and much speculation about her loyalties. When word got around that she was pregnant, it only added fuel to the rumor mill.

Of her colleagues, only Ardelia had ever met Emma. Her parentage was obvious and Clarice couldn't risk the truth becoming known.

In the end, it was worth it though. Clarice would not change Emma for anything, least of all the once-coveted spot in Behavioral Science. So here she was now, a middle-aged woman with a teenage daughter, running background checks for the FBI. Ardelia, in spite of her long-time friendship with Clarice, was now Assistant Director Mapp.

Clarice had long since stopped wondering what course her life would have taken if she had never met Hannibal Lecter.

Clarice glanced at her watch; her appointment was late. That counted against him already. She opened his file, glancing over the information again, reading nothing. She wondered if Ardelia was free for dinner.

Her phone rang. "Starling," she answered.

"I need to see you. In my office. Now." It was her immediate supervisor, AD Anderson. He didn't like her, and the feeling was mutual. In his manner and attitude to Starling, he could have been Krendler's twin.

Clarice took a deep breath and made her way up to his office. She hated the Hoover Building; somehow it embodied everything that was wrong with the FBI, run according to politics and not truth, and she longed for the familiarity of Quantico.

Anderson's secretary told Clarice to go straight in. Clarice steeled herself for whatever was coming—Anderson rarely had anything good to say to her—and stepped inside.

"Agent Starling." Anderson motioned for her to sit. There was no warmth in his expression.

"Director."

Anderson stood and came around the desk. He let a newspaper fall onto Clarice's lap, open to the personal ads. The very first one was circled; even if it hadn't been marked, Clarice would have known its importance instantly.

"This is the _Times_," Anderson said. "The same ad appears in the _International Herald-Tribune_ and the _China Mail_."

Clarice nodded. "Someone's trying to contact Dr. Lecter."

"How many people can you think of who knew of this means of contacting him?"

She shrugged. "Anyone who's read the case file."

"Anyone? How many people can you think of who would _want_ to contact him?" 

At fifty, Clarice was still a beautiful woman; consistent exercise and a healthy lifestyle making her seem younger than she was. Anderson's appraisal left her feeling uncomfortable, dirty, almost. She raised her chin, determined not to let him get to her. "Why don't you stop pussyfooting around and tell me why you called me here. I was taken off Lecter's case years ago, so right now I can only think of one reason you might have wanted to see me. Let me save you the trouble; I did not place the ad."

"I've always wondered what really went on that night. Why he killed Paul Krendler and left you unharmed; in fact, didn't he remove a bullet from your shoulder?"

"If you need a refresher, you can go over the notes from my OPR hearing." Clarice stood. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

Her hand was on the doorknob when Anderson spoke again. "You should have left him for the pigs. Would have saved the taxpayers a hell of a lot of money."

Clarice bit her lower lip to keep from speaking. Anderson had struck a low blow with those words. She took a deep, calming breath and silently counted to ten. "Was there anything else you wanted?"

When he didn't reply, she left, battling to keep her emotions under control. Damn it, she thought. She was supposed to be past getting upset every time someone mentioned that night. 

But, for her, Lecter was a wound that had never quite healed. The pain was still too fresh, too raw. Every time someone brought him up in conversation, Clarice was left waging battle with her conscience and her heart.

She needed to pull herself together before she got home. Emma would know something was wrong the minute she walked through the door.

Then it hit her; Emma.

Emma had reason to contact Lecter. And she was smart enough to hack her way into classified files.

"Oh, Em, what have you done?"

Clarice hurried to her car, stopping only once on her way home to buy a copy of the _Times_.

Emma was sprawled in front of the television, watching reruns of _ER_. Clarice dropped the newspaper onto the coffeetable, then reached for the remote and turned the TV off.

"Mom! I was watching—"

"'You have something I need, and I have something of yours.'"

Emma slowly sat up straight and picked up the newspaper. Flicking it open to the personal ads, she exhaled softly. The ad was printed exactly as she had written it: _A.A. Aaron, You have something I need, and I have something of yours. Regards, Hannah._

Emma looked up at her mother. "I suppose you want me to apologize. Well, I'm not sorry."

Clarice sat next to her. "You should have told me what you were planning."

"I didn't think you'd find out. You hardly ever read the newspaper."

"Assistant Director Anderson brought it to my attention."

"But . . . I don't understand. How would he . . ." She broke off, suddenly realizing what had happened. "They were watching for a message, weren't they? Shit, Mom, I didn't mean—"

"I know. I'm not mad, I just . . . I don't know. We'll figure something out." Clarice stood and began to pace, trying to get rid of nervous energy. "How did you pay for the ads?"

Emma smiled, clearly proud of herself. "I opened a bank account in a different name, deposited cash, then transferred the money from this account to theirs."

"You didn't use your name at any time?" 

"No, Mom." Emma rolled her eyes. "I'm not stupid. I've watched enough movies to know what's not supposed to be done."

"Life isn't a movie, Em."

"I know. I think our lives are pretty exciting anyway, especially yours. Do you think my father will have seen the message?" Emma twisted around on the couch so she could look at Clarice.

"I don't know. Possibly. Even if he did, it doesn't mean he'll do anything about it. He might think it's a trap." Faced with the thought of seeing Lecter again after so many years, Clarice didn't know what to feel.

"I think he'd risk it, to see you again."

Clarice stopped pacing. "You don't know him. Self-preservation is at the top of his priority list—"

"He's done it before, though. I read the files—"

"Which brings me to another point. No more hacking, okay? You're only sixteen and already you've committed two major crimes."

Emma laughed. "I can't help it, it's genetic."

"Emma Starling! You—I give up. I'm going for a run, I need to clear my head." 

"Want some company?"

Clarice smiled. Sometimes Emma drove her crazy, but she loved her more than anything in the world. "Sure. Anything that gets you away from the TV."

As she went to change, she tried not to worry about what was coming. There was no way the FBI would let this go quietly, but Clarice would keep Emma out of it.

If it came to the worst, she could always take her daughter and run.

As she should have perhaps run seventeen years earlier. 


	5. five

When Clarice and Emma got back from their run, Ardelia was waiting on the porch steps. Emma hugged her godmother then, still slightly out of breath, immediately apologized for being sweaty.

"Don't worry about it," Ardelia said with a laugh.

Clarice smiled and sat next to her friend. "What's up?" There was a touch of wariness in her tone.

"Hey, Em, how about a cup of coffee for an old woman?" Ardelia asked.

"Aww, Aunt Delia, you're not that old." Emma took the housekeys from her mother and disappeared inside without argument.

Ardelia turned to Clarice, looking more tired than Clarice had ever seen her. She sighed, then took Clarice's hand and leaned her head on Clarice's shoulder. "Do you remember when we first started at the Academy? We were so naïve and idealistic and all we wanted to do was save the world."

Clarice chuckled. Those had been happier, freer days. Before Jame Gumb, before Lecter, before everything had spiraled out of control.

"If I could go back in time," Ardelia continued, "I'd tell those two girls to drop out, move to the coast and open up a coffeeshop or something."

"Like they'd have listened."

The two friends turned to each other and smiled. For just a moment, they could pretend they were still that young and innocent. Then Emma came out with the coffee and the moment passed.

"Are you staying for dinner, Aunt Delia?"

"I don't think so, hon."

"It's my turn to cook."

"Can I get a raincheck? I've got a meeting later."

Emma sighed, pretending offense. "Fine. Whatever. You don't know what you're missing." She went back inside.

"When did you tell her the truth?"

Clarice frowned. "What?"

"About her father."

"Oh." Clarice leaned forward, hiding her head in her hands. "She figured it out."

Ardelia paused. "I know you didn't write the ad."

Clarice said nothing; she didn't have to.

"I think it's time you told me the whole story. What happened that night, Clarice?"

Again, Clarice kept quiet.

"I can't help you if I don't know the whole story."

"Is this what your meeting's about?"

Ardelia hesitated. "There's some . . . concern about the ad. There's no way this can end well. If there's even the slightest chance that Lecter might return to the States . . . well, the FBI and the Justice Department are out for blood. What he did to Paul Krendler was . . . it's beyond disgusting. You know there's been talk that you helped him escape."

Clarice looked up, her expression steely. "Paul Krendler was a . . . I'm not sorry Lecter killed him. If that makes me a monster too . . ." Clarice shrugged. "I rescued Lecter from Mason Verger, I'll admit to that. And in the process I got shot. Hannibal didn't have to save me but he did. To this day I don't know why. If I hadn't been shot, he wouldn't have gotten away. So, yeah, if you call that helping him escape then I guess I did . . ."

She trailed off at the look on Ardelia's face. "What?"

"You called him Hannibal. You've never done that before."

"So?"

"'So?' Clarice—"

"Ardelia, I'm so tired of this. For almost twenty-five years he's been hanging over me like a shadow. When people look at me they think of him. When is it going to end?"

"It should have ended the night Paul Krendler died. You shouldn't have slept with him, Clarice. What were you thinking?" She paused. "You did consent, didn't you? It wasn't . . . he didn't . . ."

Clarice leveled a cool stare at Ardelia. "What do you think?"

Ardelia matched Clarice's gaze. "I don't think he raped you. Despite everything else he's done, I can't see him doing that." She sighed. "And I don't think you did a thing to stop him when he walked out the door."

"I was asleep when he left," Clarice said, knowing she was damning herself with her words and not caring one whit. This had sat between the friends for far too long.

Ardelia shook her head sadly. She looked out at the setting sun, choosing her next words carefully. "Where do you think Lecter is now?"

"I have no idea."

"That's a pity." Clarice looked at her in confusion and she hurried on. "They're going to try pin the ad on you. Now would be a good time to take a vacation."

"They won't be able to prove a thing."

"But they'll find out the truth about Emma. It would be in the papers, on TV—you must have some idea of the scandal it would cause."

"And it would also be the most effective way to draw Lecter out of hiding." Though the evening was warm, Clarice shivered. "How much time do I have?"

"I don't know."

Clarice hugged Ardelia. "Thank you. I'll let you know where we end up."

"Just let me know you're okay. I don't need the details. And if you find him . . . well, just be happy."

Clarice watched her friend walk away, her heart heavy with the knowledge she would probably never see her again.

She had no idea where they would go or what tomorrow would bring, but for the first time since Hannibal Lecter had walked out of her life, Clarice Starling felt strangely free.


	6. six

A/N: After various threats and bribes, my muse finally decided to co-operate with me again. Sorry for the delay in posting. If it weren't for Susan, this chapter probably wouldn't be written yet (so we all owe her a very big thank you). Hope it was worth the wait.

* * *

Hannibal Lecter was a man of few regrets. If pressed to think about it, he would admit to having just one.

Clarice.

Walking away from her had taken every ounce of his considerable self-control. As much as he wanted to take her with him, he knew he would never be able to make her love him. Part of what he loved about her was her passion for justice, her fierce protectiveness of those who needed help . . . her clear opinion of right and wrong. She was nothing like him and, at the same time, she was everything like him. In that one night that they'd shared, Lecter had felt complete. Happy.

It was a strange feeling, and one he'd been unable to capture since.

When Lecter left the States, he had thought he would leave Clarice behind too. Moving on meant letting go completely.

But now, with the newspaper ad, he couldn't help the desire to see her again. Just once more. Even if she hadn't placed the ad, Lecter would go to her. He couldn't deny himself.

It was clear that he had never managed to let go.

There was much to prepare. Lecter knew he was still wanted by the FBI. Returning to the States would be dangerous but he was confident he wouldn't get caught.

Perhaps this time, he wouldn't leave alone.

His mind made up, Lecter turned to the Internet for the information he sought. Unknowingly following in his daughter's footsteps from a few days earlier, he hacked into the FBI's files. He learned of Clarice's suspension following his disappearance, her OPR hearing and subsequent reinstatement. It didn't surprise him that she had returned to the FBI.

The files yielded nothing else of interest. Lecter went to the _Tattler's_ website, knowing that it would have pictures of Clarice. He didn't bother reading the articles, knowing the tabloid's penchant for distorting fact in favor of sensationalism. Searching back through the archives, he came across a photograph of Clarice at Jack Crawford's funeral. She stood next to Ardelia Mapp, holding onto her arm. Though the picture was small and the resolution poor, there was no disguising the grief on her face.

Or the telltale bump on her stomach.

For a moment, Lecter stopped breathing. Clarice. Pregnant. It couldn't be true.

He knew he shouldn't have been surprised. Clarice was a beautiful woman. Of course men were interested in her. It was only natural that she decide to marry one of them and raise the family she had always wanted. Whoever she had chosen was a lucky man.

Lecter outlined the image on the screen, his fingers resting longingly on Clarice.

And he saw the date of the article. Lightning-quick, he did the math, and a smile bloomed slowly on his face.

Could Clarice have been pregnant with his child? If so, what had she done with it?

__

I have something of yours.

Something. A child. _His_ child.

He was suddenly certain that Clarice had not placed the ad, and that the person who had knew about the child. Fury simmered white-hot in his veins; someone was using Clarice to draw him out again. If this trap put her or the child in danger . . .

Lecter realized he didn't know what had happened to the child and found himself hoping she'd kept it. Deep down, his long suppressed desire for a family was rekindled.

And he knew how to make contact.

"Clarice." He drew the word out, turning it into a caress. Addressing the image on the screen, he smiled. "It will be good to see you again."

* * *

. . . _Clarice was awake long after Lecter fell asleep. In the safety of the moonlight, she watched him, and let her mind wander._

__

Their lovemaking had been gentle, unhurried. He'd treated her with a surprising tenderness which, when she thought about it, shouldn't have been all that surprising. Somewhere deep inside herself, she had always known he cared.

__

She studied his hand, curled on her naked belly. Hands that had killed. Hands that had loved.

__

In this moment, he did not seem like a monster, and in this moment, Clarice knew she was lost. She would live with the memory of this night forever, and the memory would have to be enough. For both of them.

__

For a brief instant, she debated throwing caution to the wind and going with him. Then she thought of everything in her life that had brought her to this point, and she knew she wouldn't.

__

When she woke up the next morning, she knew she'd made the wrong choice . . .

"Mom? Mom? Are you okay?"

Clarice looked up at Emma and summoned a smile. "What was that, hon?"

Emma sat on the porch step next to her mother. "I've been trying to tell you that dinner's ready. But you were a million miles away. Is everything okay? What did Aunt Delia want?"

"I'd love to tell you what she wanted, but you don't have clearance." At Emma's look of mock-outrage, Clarice's smile became a real one. "Oh, alright. She wanted to give me a heads up."

"I caused a lot of trouble with the ad, didn't I?"

Clarice couldn't lie. "Yes. But it'll be okay."

"Really? You're not just saying that so I don't feel guilty?"

"Really."

Emma grinned. "Good. Let's eat. I didn't slave away for nothing, you know."

Arm in arm, they went into the house. Clarice decided she would wait until after dinner to discuss the future. Emma deserved this last little bit of normalcy.

Across the street, Eddie Bond, a short, muscular blond, took one last photograph before the front door closed. Eddie didn't know why he was being paid to follow Starling and he didn't even care who wanted him to; all that mattered was that at the end of each day he was handed a money-filled envelope in exchange for his photographs.

* * *

Ardelia sat at the end of the table and looked incredulously at the men around her. She might as well have not come, for all the good her presence did. The second she'd sat down, it became clear that this was no ordinary meeting. It was a lynching. The more she listened, the more she understood that every good thing Clarice had ever done counted for nothing.

She wondered what it was about Clarice that these people were so afraid of. Was it because she had been face to face with Lecter and survived? Because Lecter had seen something in her that he had identified with? Because they didn't know what had really gone on that night at the Chesapeake house? Because she had battled the monster and returned unscathed?

Ardelia knew better than anyone the scars Clarice bore as a result of her association with Lecter. And she also knew that Clarice was worth more than any one of these men in this room, and that they were playing with fire.

When AD Anderson turned to her, Ardelia realized she wasn't there as an assistant director but as a witness.

"What kind of relationship did Agent Starling have with Hannibal Lecter?"

Ah, Ardelia thought, so they've finally come out and said it.

"Relationship is the wrong word. He assisted her in the Jame Gumb case—"

"Do you mean he was a mentor to her?" This was from AD Kersh; not Ardelia's favorite person.

"I mean he pointed her in the right direction. When he escaped, he wrote her a letter. When she was in trouble, he came to help—"

"And she returned the favor and let him get away again."

Ardelia glared at Anderson. "I'd appreciate it if you let me finish. She was full of morphine the second time he escaped. There was no way she could have stopped him. I don't know why we're rehashing all of this. The OPR hearing cleared her."

The room was silent. No one made eye contact with her. Ardelia suddenly had a very bad feeling.

"I spoke with Agent Starling earlier. She did not place that ad," Ardelia said.

"Of course she'd want you to think that. You've been friends for years." Kersh, again. There was a disturbing light in his eyes. Ardelia took a sip of water, trying to dispel the knot of nervousness in her stomach.

"You know her daughter was born almost nine months to the day after we got her out of Chesapeake."

Ardelia's heart beat double time.

"You'd have known if she was seeing someone, of course, seeing as how you're such close friends. I have to admit I was surprised her pregnancy caused less of a sensation, but then she was out of Washington as soon as she started to show."

"She took maternity leave. I believe that's not unheard of." Ardelia took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. She couldn't be too defensive; they would suspect she was hiding something.

It occurred to her that she'd just referred to her colleagues as Them, something she had never before done.

"Emma's a pretty girl," Anderson said. "She takes after her mother. Unusual eyes, though. How many people do you know with maroon eyes?"

"Just Emma."

Anderson nodded. "That's right, you never met Lecter."

Neither had Anderson, but Ardelia refrained from pointing that out. This was dangerous territory.

Anderson slid Lecter's photograph across the table to Ardelia. After a few seconds, he added a photograph of Emma. Ardelia had not come to condemn her friend, but nothing she said could save Clarice.

"The resemblance is remarkable, don't you agree?"

Ardelia said nothing.

* * *

Clarice and Emma sat across from each other in the living room. After a while, Emma looked up from her coffee. "Where will we go?"

"I don't know yet. But we have to leave soon."

Emma crossed the room and curled up next to her mother. "I'm sorry. If I hadn't—"

"Em, please stop apologizing." Clarice cupped Emma's chin in her hand. "I'm sorry for not telling you sooner."

Emma hugged her. "I guess I understand why you didn't. I was hoping he'd . . . you know."

"Oh, Em. When he left, we understood that it was the end. And as much as I wish I could go back and change it, I . . . he got his freedom. That's what matters."

"Why are you so scared to admit that he might love you?" Emma pulled away, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "You told me you still loved him. Why must it always be about his freedom?"

Clarice was saved from answering by a knock at the door. Thinking it might be Ardelia, she opened it without looking through the peephole.

And froze.

"It's nice to see you again, Agent Starling."

Curious, Emma appeared behind her mother to see who had arrived.

"You must be Emma," the visitor said.

Recovering from her shock, Clarice stepped aside so he could enter. "It's good to see you too. Emma, this is Barney."


	7. seven

A/N: Apologies that this took so long but real life intruded ::sigh:: Thanks to Susan for the suggestions. And thank you to the rest of you for being so patient!

* * *

Emma studied Barney, her eyes narrowed, her head tilted slightly to one side. Her lips were pursed in a way that was very familiar to Barney and Clarice. Then, evidently seeing something she liked, Emma smiled. "It's nice to meet you, Barney."

His dark eyes shone. "We've met before."

"What? When?"

"You were just a few days old the last time I saw you. You've grown into a lovely young woman."

To Clarice's surprise, Emma blushed. "Umm . . . thanks, I think."

"Em, could I talk to Barney alone for a second?"

"Aw, Mom—"

"There is something I need to discuss privately with your mother," Barney said.

"What's there to know that I don't already know? We said there'd be no more secrets." Emma held Clarice's gaze.

"If it's something you need to know, I'll tell you later."

Emma realized she wouldn't win with her mother and turned her attention to Barney instead. "I know who you are. You're here about my father, aren't you?"

Barney hid his smile. To him, it was clear that Emma had inherited her father's forthrightness. "I was contacted by a mutual friend who is concerned about you."

"Is it my father? Do you know where he is?" Emma could hardly contain her excitement.

"Our friend has made some travel arrangements on your behalf, if you're interested." Barney addressed Clarice.

"Of course we're interested," Emma said. 

Clarice walked over to the window. "I don't know, Barney. I . . . This is unexpected."

"Mom!"

Clarice shook her head. She knew the smart thing to do would be to accept the offer, but she didn't know what would happen after that. To see Lecter again after all these years . . .

"I don't need an answer tonight," Barney said, "but you need to decide soon."

Clarice ignored the sullen look on Emma's face and nodded. "Thank you, Barney."

Not long after Barney left, the phone rang. Clarice didn't really want to speak to anyone and let the machine get it.

"Clarice, I need to talk to you." It was Ardelia. "If you're there, pick up. It's important."

Clarice sighed, and reached for the phone. "Hi."

"Is everything alright?" She sounded concerned.

"Yes."

"My meeting just ended."

Clarice felt a shiver run up her spine. "And?"

"I'm not sure how much I can say over the phone. Kersh is very interested in Emma."

She clutched the phone tighter. Kersh was the same breed as Krendler, perhaps worse. And now he was asking questions about Emma. 

"I spoke to John and May this afternoon. They said they'd love to see you again."

John and May were Ardelia's cousins. Clarice had spent the last two months of her pregnancy on their farm in Virginia, and every time the world got to be too much, she and Emma would return to visit. But Clarice had no wish to involve the FBI in their lives, not after everything they had done for her family.

"Clarice? You still there?"

She nodded, realized Ardelia couldn't see her, and said, "I'm still here."

"You coming to work tomorrow?"

Clarice looked across the room at Emma, curled up in front of the TV. "Yes," she lied.

Later that night, when Emma had gone to bed, Clarice called Barney.

* * *

Kersh and Anderson sat in the otherwise empty boardroom discussing what Kersh liked to call "the Starling problem".

"I believe Ardelia," Anderson said. "Clarice Starling isn't stupid. She wouldn't risk contacting Lecter."

"Maybe. But what about the girl? What are we going to do about her?"

"Why do we have to do anything about her? She can't help who her father is. Maybe Lecter raped Starling." Anderson felt a momentary twinge of sympathy for Clarice. If she had been raped, it would explain why she had no interest in contacting Lecter. 

"So you're saying you want no part in this?"

Anderson loosened his tie and thought of his own daughter, a year younger than Emma. He knew what Lecter did to people he didn't like and decided he couldn't leave his child without a father. "We've been monitoring Starling's mail for years. There's been nothing from Lecter. Maybe he got tired of her. Maybe he died."

"Umm." Kersh studied his colleague. "But what if he's not?"

"He'd know better than to respond to the ad."

"Maybe." Kersh smiled. Like Krendler and Verger, he knew what would make Lecter come running. The difference between them and him, he thought, was that he was going to do things properly.

He said goodnight to Anderson and went back to his office. Unlike Anderson he didn't have a wife and a child to go home to. He'd decided a long time ago that his career was first in his life.

A manila envelope was on his desk. Smiling, he sat down and emptied it. In A4 color, he saw Clarice and Ardelia sitting on porch steps. Emma with two cups in her hands. In some of the pictures, the three of them were smiling. In others, Clarice and Ardelia looked unhappy.

Kersh picked up a phone and dialed a number he'd long ago committed to memory. "Do it," he said, then hung up.

* * *

Clarice dreamed she was riding Hannah away from the farm. This time, she wasn't a scared little girl. This time, she had someone to run to. In the darkness of her dreams, Hannibal Lecter waited for her at the end of the road, holding Emma's hand. Hannah stopped running and began to fight Clarice's control. Clarice urged her forward, but the horse wouldn't obey. Clarice saw Lecter and Emma turn and walk away. She yelled for them to wait, but no sound came from her mouth. Someone pulled her from the horse and closed handcuffs around her wrists. She looked up at Kersh's smiling face, then heard a gunshot. Someone else said, "We've got them."

. . . Clarice's eyes flew open. She reached out automatically, then realized she was on her couch, not on the road from the farm. "You shouldn't have fallen asleep", she thought as she slowly sat up.

Clarice glanced at her watch as she headed upstairs to wake Emma. It was time.

* * *

This kind of nervousness was unfamiliar to Clarice. It was different to the feeling of serving on a jump out squad or being in the line of fire. At her OPR hearing she hadn't been afraid – she'd just felt sick. Now, the anticipation of seeing Lecter again left her with butterflies in her stomach and a strange taste at the back of her throat. So many times she had dreamed of this moment and now that it was finally, impossibly, here, Clarice was at a loss as to what to do.

She looked around Union Station, memories of long ago returning with surprising clarity. She heard the carousel music, Lecter's taunting voice in her ear, felt his presence, saw the flash of light from the photo booth, and found the gift.

Emma hooked her arm through Clarice's and she came back to herself. No carousel this early in the morning. No Sardinians following her. Just the crowd of rush hour commuters.

Clarice led Emma to a bench. If she tried hard enough, maybe she could pretend that nothing was out of the ordinary. Emma wasn't as successful at hiding her feelings. Despite her daughter's earlier bravado, Clarice could see the stress Emma was doing her best to hide. For all of Emma's worldliness, she was still an innocent.

Clarice was struck by sudden doubt: was going with Lecter the best thing for Emma? She shook her head to dispel the thought; it was too late to pull out and besides, Emma deserved to know her father. And Clarice knew now, without a doubt, that she really did want to see Lecter again. He'd come back to her, after all this time. She had been wrong and Emma had been right. Clarice just hoped the plan worked.

It wasn't foolproof, but it was the best she could come up with on such short notice. The crowd offered some safety and a degree of anonymity – amidst the rush, she and Emma would simply disappear.

But the gods weren't smiling on them. Clarice spotted the undercover agents almost as soon as they were in position. There, at the payphone. Here, pushing a bay carriage. There, reading a newspaper. The security guard at the entrance looked in her direction.

Something tight and dark and bitter threatened to overwhelm Clarice. Her .45, hidden beneath her jacket, was a reassuring weight at her side.

Emma felt her stiffen and pressed closer. "Mom?"

"Hmm?"

"What's wrong?"

Clarice held back a smile; Emma was far too perceptive for her own good. Just like Lecter. Clarice didn't realize how often she'd compared her daughter to Lecter over the past few days.

"Nothing, yet," she said.

Clarice's heart beat double time; a man wearing a fedora had just walked into Union Station. She realized almost immediately that it wasn't Lecter but it took a while for her pulse to stop racing.

"It's nine o'clock," Emma said.

Clarice nodded. With so many people watching her, would she and Emma still be able to disappear? And how far would she go to make sure they escaped? She thought of Emma, thought of the gun at her side, and knew she would do whatever it took.

"Okay," she said, and stood.

Emma slung a bag over her shoulder and picked up her jacket. Together, they headed towards the terminal.

Clarice saw movement out of the corner of her eye; the agent at the newsstand spoke into his wrist. Clarice followed his gaze to the security guard who she now recognized as an agent. His gun was drawn. Clarice reached for her own weapon. She would never be sure in what order things happened next.

Someone fired a shot. People screamed. Emma let go of Clarice and fell to the ground. Agents came running towards them. Another shot, and a sharp pain in her side. Before Clarice could fire, someone grabbed her from behind and pulled her away. She fought; it wasn't supposed to happen like this. Emma was lying on the ground, an agent covering her with his body. Clarice struggled; she had to get to Emma – to hell with everything else. A voice in her ear whispered her name. Clarice stopped resisting, put her hand to her side, and let Hannibal Lecter lead her away.


	8. eight

A/N: Didn't make you wait _so_ long this time ::grin:: Thanks, as always, to Susan for betaing, and to everyone who's reviewed so far. Your feedback means the world to me. ~ Mel

* * *

A hotel, somewhere in Washington. Clarice lay on the bed and let herself travel back in time to Chesapeake – a different night, a different bullet wound, but the same hands gently brushing against her skin.

She opened her eyes. Lecter's concentration was on her injury so she was free to study him. It surprised her to see that he'd aged – in her mind he'd remained as he was the night he'd left. His mouth was set in an expression she knew so well—

She tried to sit.

"No, Clarice." Lecter held her down.

"But Emma—"

"She wasn't hurt. Someone pushed her to the ground when the shooting started."

"You're sure she was pushed? She didn't fall?"

He didn't hesitate. "I'm sure."

"Okay." The sting in her side was worse. "How bad is it?"

"The bullet just grazed you." Lecter finished dressing her wound then sat back so he could look at her properly. This time, when she tried to sit, he didn't stop her. There was so much that needed to be said, but now was not the time. When he'd seen Clarice and Emma together, he'd had to struggle to keep from showing himself immediately. Barney had told him Emma was beautiful, but he'd been unprepared to see her in the flesh. His child . . . She was no longer an abstraction; she was real, she was alive, and the FBI had her. _The FBI is more trouble than it's worth_, Lecter thought.

"Where will they take her?" he asked.

"A safe house, probably. Hopefully they'll think she's got nothing to do with this. Especially because we left her . . . What a mess." Clarice tried to blink back tears, without much success. Her child . . . her baby, most likely in Kersh's hands . . . the thought filled her with rage and an unfamiliar fear. She bent over, a sharp, sudden pain in her stomach that had nothing to do with her injury.

Contrary to what many thought, Lecter did not like to see Clarice in pain. He reached for her; partly to comfort her, partly just so he could hold her again. "How much does she know?"

Clarice sighed, but she didn't pull away. "Everything."

"Everything?"

"She's too smart for her own good. She saw old copies of the _Tattler_ and put everything together." Clarice couldn't hide the touch of pride in her voice. "Then she hacked into the FBI's files and decided to get in touch with you."

"She placed the ad?"

Clarice nodded. "She wanted to meet you."

To think this had all been because of a child's simple wish to know her father . . . Clarice hated that their lives had made it happen this way. She had long ago accepted that the world consisted of shades of gray, that to see everything in black and white was a weakness.

Lecter's hold tightened infinitesimally. "We'll get her back."

* * *

Kersh looked around the now-empty station, his hands in his pockets, a peculiar gleam in his eyes. Anderson was a few feet away, near the spot where Emma had fallen. His expression was downcast – all he could think about was how Paul Krendler had died the last time Clarice Starling was shot. Both men wore navy windbreakers; 'FBI' emblazoned on the backs. Crime scene personnel (their windbreakers appropriately labeled 'Crime Unit') walked purposefully through the taped off area. Black-clad SWAT members completed the scene, though no one there had any doubt that the fugitives were long gone.

"Where's the girl?" Kersh asked.

"She was taken to GW. Mapp was heading there to pick her up."

"Mapp? No. I want her somewhere safe. And I don't want Mapp anywhere near her. For all we know she was part of this."

Anderson nodded, though he had his doubts that Ardelia would go this far. Then again, he thought, everyone had always said Clarice Starling was a straight arrow. "I'll take care of it."

One of the crime scene guys approached Kersh and cleared his throat, breaking the conversation. "The tapes are ready."

Kersh directed Anderson to keep him updated, then followed the CSI. Fifteen minutes later, after viewing the security footage, he stood in front of six very nervous agents. His temper was legendary among the younger agents, and right now Kersh looked far from happy.

"How the hell did no one see Lecter until he grabbed Starling? He has been on the Ten Most Wanted list since . . . since forever! And we expected her to contact him—"

The agents stared back at Kersh, none daring to speak. They were good agents but too young to have been part of the previous Lecter investigation. All they had was second-hand knowledge (mainly what Kersh had told them in the briefing), and not all of that knowledge was accurate. None of them had actually met Clarice, and two of them were in fact on their first field assignment. Kersh had picked them specifically so that Clarice wouldn't recognize them.

"Sir," one of the older ones spoke. A former Marine, Joe Freeman, he had attended one of Clarice's lectures and admired her from afar. What he saw today had shocked him. "Sir, our instruction was to observe Agent Starling. We were not lead to believe that Dr. Lecter would be here."

Kersh paused in his tirade to look at Freeman. His jaw muscles worked as he tried to frame a reply. Eventually he decided the comment wasn't worth an answer and continued as if Freeman hadn't spoken at all.

"Crime scene is working on piecing everything together. What can anyone tell me so far? Who started shooting?"

The agents looked at each other. "Agent Starling pulled out her weapon and fired at—"

"You fired first." Freeman stared down at his colleague, a brownnoser named Wilson.

"No. She did."

"And the girl?" Kersh asked impatiently. "What happened with her?"

"As soon as I heard the shot, I got her on the ground. As far as I know she wasn't hit." Freeman looked at Kersh for confirmation. Tackling Emma had been reflex; he'd dived for her without thinking. All he'd known was that he had to get her out of the line of fire.

"She wasn't hit," Kersh said. "The crime scene guys found blood and a slug in one of the pillars though. The tapes show us that Starling was hit, but we're not sure how badly."

"Sir?" Wilson ventured. "How exactly did they get away?"

"We're working on it. I want your reports on my desk by 17:00. Get your weapons to ballistics; I want this wrapped up ASAP." Kersh spun on his heel and stalked off. Freeman hurried after him. 

"Sir, I was wondering if you knew where the girl was taken."

Kersh paused mid-stride and turned to look at the younger man. "Why?"

"I wanted to see how she was doing."

While Kersh debated answering Freeman, a CSI walked over to him, a plastic evidence bag in his hand. "Sir, we found this under a bench. I'll run tests anyway, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't fired."

"Freeman, are any of your agents missing their weapons?"

Freeman shook his head. "No, sir."

Kersh looked at the CSI, suddenly very weary. "Run the serial number. Find out who it was issued to."

"Yes, sir."

When the agent had gone, Kersh motioned for Freeman to walk with him. "Today was a screw-up from the word go. Off the record, what happened?"

Freeman hesitated. "Agent Starling spotted Delaney at the newsstand. It looked like she reached for her weapon, but I can't be sure about that. Wilson fired the first shot. After that, it's a bit unclear. I got the girl on the ground and saw someone grab Agent Starling from behind. She struggled at first; I guess she wanted to get back to her daughter. But then she stopped fighting him."

"Why are you so concerned about the kid?"

"She didn't do anything wrong."

Kersh nodded, making up his mind. Freeman could be useful to him. "Okay. Meet AD Anderson at GW. He should be arranging to take the girl to a safe house. I want you in charge of guarding her."

"Yes, sir." 

"You'll need a replacement weapon. And I still want your report by the end of the day."

* * *

At George Washington Memorial, Emma Starling sat silently as a nurse stitched up the cut on her temple. When Freeman had pushed her down, she'd hit her head hard on the ground – so hard that she had passed out. She'd woken just moments earlier in the emergency room and known immediately that something had gone horribly wrong. The last thing she remembered was feeling her mother stiffen next to her, and then everything had gone to hell.

The nurse moved away and a doctor stepped forward to shine a flashlight in her eyes. "Umm," he said. She was too tired to wonder what he meant.

"Can you tell me what your name is?" he asked.

"Emma . . . Starling." No, she thought, that wasn't right. "Lecter."

"Umm," the doctor repeated. "Do you know what day it is?"

"Friday."

He held up his hand. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Four."

"Four?"

She nodded, then held her head still because it hurt. "Four fingers and a thumb."

He frowned. "Umm."

There was a commotion at the door. Ardelia forced her way past the policeman on guard and rushed straight to the bedside. "Emma! Thank God you're alright."

"Hi, Aunt Ardelia," Emma said without emotion.

"She is alright, isn't she?" Ardelia turned to the doctor.

"Aside from the cut on her head and a mild concussion, she's fine."

"Where's my mom?"

Ardelia glanced at the floor. "Doctor, could I have a minute alone with her?"

"Of course."

Ardelia sat on the edge of the bed and took Emma's hand. When she was sure it was safe, she spoke softly. "Your mother . . . I'm not sure what happened this morning but somehow she left with Lecter."

"They're gone?"

Ardelia nodded. Emma looked away and bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

"They left without me?"

"I don't think they had a choice."

"How could she leave me behind? We were supposed to go together." Emma couldn't keep her tears at bay. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Do you think it was 'cause he didn't want to meet me?"

Ardelia hugged her goddaughter. "Of course not."

"How would you know? You've never met him."

"Well, neither have you. But I can't think of any reason why he wouldn't want to meet you."

Emma hiccuped. "He just wanted her again. He doesn't care about me."

"Oh, Em. I don't think that's true."

"The only reason she kept me was 'cause she didn't have him. And now she doesn't need me anymore—"

"Emma Starling, that is not true!" Ardelia's voice was harsher than she intended. "Your mother loves you more than anything else in the whole world."

"So why'd she leave me behind?"

Ardelia wished she had an answer. But then AD Anderson arrived and she was escorted out of the room.


	9. nine

A/N: More Mirror, Mirror ::grin:: At last. As always, thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far. To Susan, big hugs for being such a super beta. ~Mel

* * *

"Aunt Ardelia!" Emma tried to follow Ardelia out but as soon as she moved, the world tilted on its axis and her vision clouded. She fell back against the pillow. A few minutes later, the man who had taken Ardelia away returned. He pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down.

"Hello, Emma. I'm Assistant Director Anderson."

Emma stared at him.

"I'm . . . I was your mother's supervisor. Emma, we need to know what happened this morning. Your mom could be in a lot of trouble."

Emma's bottom lip trembled as she tried to blink back tears. "It wasn't her fault. She didn't do anything wrong." Her voice was barely a whisper.

"What was that?"

Emma closed her eyes, wishing everything would just go away. What if she had been wrong? What if her mom was in trouble? What if her father thought her mother had set him up at Union Station? It hit Emma then; the enormity of what had happened. She had contacted a serial killer, a wanted felon – her father. Her father was a murderer. And he had her mother.

And it was all her fault.

Anderson saw her blanch and grabbed a bedpan just in time. Emma hunched over and threw up in it while Anderson held her hair away from her face.

"Your mom's going to be fine," he heard himself say. "We'll get her back."

He felt awkward. At home, his wife was the one to comfort the children. Whenever he thought of Teresa, it was with a twinge of guilt.

A nurse entered and took over from him. "Dr. Talbot thinks we need to keep her for observation," she said.

"I need to get her to a safehouse."

The nurse shrugged. "You'll have to take that up with the doctor."

Emma wished she could go back in time, wished she had never seen the _Tattler_, that she had never placed the ad . . . wished she had never even been born.

* * *

Outside Emma's room, Ardelia was on the phone to Kersh. "She's my goddaughter and right now I'm all she has—"

"It pains me to say this, Ardelia, but at the moment we can't be sure that you weren't involved in all of this."

Ardelia hung up, furious. She understood Kersh's suspicion (she had, after all, had some idea of Clarice's plans) but it still hurt to be distrusted. She had a sudden understanding of what Clarice had put up with and she decided she wasn't going to take it lying down. She knocked on Emma's door and yelled, "Anderson!"

From behind her, a man said, "Assistant Director Mapp?"

She whirled around, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied the man. Something in his bearing reminded her of John Brigham and she couldn't help but notice his warm, kind eyes. His expression was friendly but she refused to let herself relax too soon.

"Special Agent Joe Freeman," he said. "AD Kersh assigned me to guard Miss Starling."

Ardelia thought quickly: the best chance for this to end well was if she was the one to guard Emma. If Freeman was like Kersh's other agents, he would be more concerned with looking good to the higher-ups than doing his job properly. Ardelia couldn't risk anything happening to Emma.

"Lecter's a very dangerous man, Agent. How far are you willing to go to protect Emma? Are you willing to die for her?"

"Ma'am?"

"When Lecter comes for her, he'll kill everyone in his way."

To Freeman's credit, he didn't flinch. Instead, he smiled. "Well, ma'am, I'm hoping it won't come to that."

Then he grew serious. "I've seen combat and I've seen some horrible, scary things. I'm not afraid of Hannibal Lecter and I'll do everything in my power to keep the girl safe."

Ardelia decided she liked Freeman. "You should be scared," she wanted to say, but a doctor interrupted them before she could.

"Which one of you is Assistant Director Anderson?"

"Neither," Ardelia said. "He's inside."

She and Freeman followed Dr. Talbot in. When Ardelia saw Emma's tearstained face, her jaw tightened and she glared at Anderson.

"My nurse tells me you want Emma discharged," Talbot said.

Anderson nodded. "She should be in a safehouse. Having her here is much too risky."

"Is there no way you could wait until tomorrow? She has a concussion—"

"If she stays here, she could be killed."

"I want to go home," Emma said.

Freeman stepped towards Anderson and Talbot. "I was a medic in the Marine Corps. I know what to watch for."

The doctor pursed his lips. "Alright," he said. "But if you need to bring her back, do it."

Anderson noticed Ardelia for the first time. "What are you doing in here?"

"I'm her godmother—"

"Kersh's orders—"

"Please let her stay." Emma's voice was weak and she looked terrified. Ardelia moved to her side.

Anderson was still uncertain. "I have to clear it with Kersh."

"Fine."

He left the room to make the call. When he returned, he had a look of regret on his face and was accompanied by another agent.

"Ardelia . . ." He sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm placing you under arrest—"

"No!" Emma cried. "She didn't do anything. Please let her stay!"

Anderson was not an unfeeling man, but Kersh's orders had been very specific. "You've got five minutes. We'll wait outside."

When they were alone, Ardelia sat on the edge of the bed and hugged Emma.

"Aunt Delia, I'm so sorry. I screwed everything up and now you're going to jail and—"

Recognizing how close Emma was to hysteria, Ardelia rubbed soothing circles on her back. "Shh. It's not your fault. I'm not going to jail. This is just Kersh's way of keeping me away from you."

"I don't like Kersh."

Ardelia smiled. "Neither does your mother."

Immediately, she knew it was the wrong thing to say. Emma clung to her and sobbed. "She left—"

"Shh, Em. Listen to me. Your mother loves you. There's nothing she wouldn't do for you. And she would never, ever, abandon you."

"So why--?"

"Let me finish. I am absolutely certain that she'll come back for you. Has she ever done anything to make you think she doesn't love you?"

Emma shook her head.

"Now, it looks like I'm not going to be around to remind you of that, so promise me you'll hold onto that truth."

"I promise."

"Good." Ardelia kissed her forehead. "You know I love you, kid."

"Yeah." Emma put on her brave face; she'd be damned if she let people think she wasn't strong. And there was only so much she could blame on the concussion. But still . . . 

"Aunt Ardelia, he won't hurt her, will he?"

"Em . . . I don't know. No. If she'd thought it wasn't safe, she wouldn't have agreed to meet him."

"Really?"

"Really." Ardelia smiled and hoped she sounded more certain than she felt.

Anderson opened the door. "Ardelia."

"Coming." She hugged Emma again, then stood. To Emma, she said, "Freeman seems like a good guy. You can trust him."

As Ardelia left, she prayed she was right.

* * *

In Kersh's office in the Hoover Building is an innocent-looking filing cabinet; there is one in the office of each Assistant Director. Kersh's top two cabinets are filled with official FBI documents. The bottom is kept locked and Kersh carries the key with him at all times.

When he left Union Station, he went straight to his office, unlocked the bottom cabinet and took out his file on the Starlings. He spread the latest batch of photos (Clarice, Emma and Ardelia on the porch) out on his desk and pored over each of them. He didn't expect to find anything new, and he wasn't disappointed. But there was no way Ardelia could prove she hadn't been meeting with Clarice to discuss Lecter.

He put those photos away and took out the file on Ardelia. When he first had her followed, he had been surprised to learn that she had no deep, dark secret he could use. Unless, he admitted, she was just too good at hiding it. To him, the only questionable thing she had ever done was to befriend Clarice Starling. He thought of what he'd just ordered Anderson to do and smiled; perhaps this fiasco would do enough damage to Ardelia's career that she would no longer be a threat to his goal, Deputy Director and, ultimately, Director.

Technically, Anderson didn't have to obey him. They were of equal rank in the FBI hierarchy. Kersh glanced at the cabinet again and pulled out Anderson's file. Because Anderson had made one mistake ten years ago, Kersh owned him. Kersh picked up a photograph of a blonde, curly-haired girl. The child and her mother lived in Virginia and Kersh knew for a fact that Anderson paid child support every month. One night, almost a year earlier, Kersh had dropped the photo on Anderson's desk and casually inquired what Teresa thought of Amy. Now, recalling the look of horror on Anderson's face, Kersh couldn't help but smile.

There was a knock at the door. Kersh returned the files to their place and locked the cabinet. He slipped the key back in his pocket and called, "Come in."

It was Agent Delaney. "Sir, we checked out that orderly's home. He wasn't there. His clothes and a couple of things were missing. The landlord says he doesn't know anything. I've left Baker and Tessler behind in case he goes back."

"Barney's missing?"

"Yes, sir."

Kersh began a silent count to ten. He made it to three. "Get me Ardelia Mapp right now!"


	10. ten

A/N: I'm surprised how many people are still following this ::grin:: Thanks, as always, for the kind reviews. And Susan, you rock :o)

* * *

Barney had always wanted to see the world. In one of his many conversations with Hannibal Lecter at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, he had told the doctor of his desire. Lecter had smiled thoughtfully and said, "Perhaps one day you'll get your wish."

At the time, Barney had shrugged it off as a meaningless comment, but he should have known that Lecter never said something unless he meant it.

After Barney had arranged for Clarice and Emma to go to Union Station, he had cleared out his bank account (a significantly larger bank account than it had been before Emma's ad) and paid cash for a one-way ticket to Buenos Aires. In a week's time, he was to be in Vienna for a meeting.

Right now his plane was touching down at the very busy Buenos Aires International Airport. It was only after he cleared customs and booked into a hotel that he switched on CNN and heard what had happened in DC.

". . . Cannot comment on claims that Hannibal 'the Cannibal' Lecter has returned to the United States . . ."

Barney turned off the television and went in search of a public telephone. The connection was bad and there was a delay, but when he heard Lecter's voice, he let himself relax.

* * *

". . . Do you understand your rights as I have read them to you?"

Ardelia nodded tiredly. In all her years as an FBI agent, she had never thought she would ever be on the receiving end of the Miranda warning. She sat in one of the FBI's interview rooms – which was just another name for interrogation rooms. She didn't stand when Kersh entered.

"You have no idea how it upsets me to see you in here, Ardelia."

"I'm not saying a word without a lawyer." _Jackass_, she added silently.

"Fair enough. I just want you to know that I'll do everything I can to help you. But you're going to have to help me too."

Ardelia raised her head and met his gaze. She knew how Kersh worked and she refused to play along. He had nothing on her and both of them knew it.

"Very well," Kersh said. "I'll get someone from legal here. While you're waiting, you can think about these."

He dropped a folder onto the table.

"I'd prefer my own lawyer," Ardelia said.

"Fine." The door slammed closed behind Kersh.

Ardelia opened the folder. Her only outward reaction was a slight widening of her eyes. Kersh had left her with surveillance photographs of her and Clarice, taken the evening before Clarice had disappeared.

"So this is what Kersh is planning to use," she thought.

Ardelia closed the folder and leaned back in her chair.

* * *

The FBI safe house was a farm in Virginia and not at all what Emma expected. She discovered the windows were made of bulletproof glass and what had once been the pantry was now a control room with three rows of video monitors. Freeman stood at one end of the kitchen talking to another agent, obviously discussing security. Emma wandered into the living room, wanting to see more of the house.

She felt slightly better since her conversation with Ardelia. Her parents would return for her, she knew that now. But until then, she would patiently bide her time and pretend to go along with the FBI's plans.

"Emma?" 

She turned around and gave Freeman a thin smile.

"Everything okay? Are you hungry?"

Emma shook her head. "I'm fine."

Despite what Ardelia had said, she wasn't going to trust anyone.

* * *

Hannibal Lecter spoke softly into the phone, reassuring Barney that they were fine, not to worry and that he would see him in Vienna. He glanced over at Clarice; glad to see she was still asleep. He hung up then quietly returned to her side. After all this time, being so close to her was like a dream. Lecter bent his head to hers and smiled; her hair was the same strawberry scent of his dreams. He had to touch her – it had been too long. His fingertips brushed the soft skin of her cheeks. Lecter closed his eyes and let his mind take him back to that last night. That first night.

__

. . . Lecter could not deny that this was a side of Clarice Starling that he had long been curious about. Now that she had committed herself to this night, she seemed more at ease with him. In the bedroom, he slipped her shoes off, cradling her feet in his hands. She had very shapely feet. In fact, as he soon found out, every part of her was beautiful.

Her dress joined the shoes on the floor, followed by his tie, pants, shirt. She was warm against him and he was surprised at how right this felt. He kissed her again and this time she didn't protest. His fingers slid through her hair, down her neck, across her skin. She mumbled something that sounded like "I love you" but he would never be sure.

There was no hurry. At one point, he reached over and turned on the lamp so that he could look at her. She smiled up at him, her hair spilling across the pillow beneath her, her pale skin flushed where his fingers moved. They did not speak. Lecter stared at her for a long time, committing her features to memory. This moment was perfect and he did not want to forget it . . .

Hannibal Lecter had loved women before, but Clarice was the one woman he had been in love with. For no one else would he risk everything, his life, his freedom, just so he could watch her run. He'd had no idea, when they'd first met, that she would be so important to him. Something about her had prompted him to tease, to offer her a Valentine, to joke that people would say they were in love. Yet somewhere along the line he had fallen complete, irrevocably, in love with her.

Lecter pressed a kiss to her forehead; the irony of the situation not lost on him. The last time Clarice Starling had been in his bed, she'd had a bullet wound. Lecter slid the covers down and raised the edge of her blouse. He lifted the dressing and gave a tiny nod. The injury would leave no permanent damage and the pain would ease in a day or two. Lecter wondered how her last scar had healed but he was too much of a gentleman to look without her consent.

"They never stopped screaming, you know."

"Hmm?" He was surprised that he hadn't noticed she was awake.

"The lambs."

"They never do."

Clarice smiled. "I know that _now_."

His hand lay on her shoulder, warm through the fabric. When he leaned down to kiss her, it was as if the past seventeen years had been but a dream. Here . . . now. This was real. As she held him close, all she could think about was how much she'd missed this, how much she'd missed _him_ and how good it felt to be back in his arms. Whatever had happened in the past didn't matter because she was finally back where she belonged.

He kissed the scars he'd given her; the almost-invisible reminder of her last bullet wound, the faint line from her Cesarean . . . Emma. He spread his palm flat on Clarice's belly and imagined the child inside her. If only he had taken Clarice away with him that night, if only he had kept tabs on her . . . 

But all the 'if only's' in the world couldn't change the past. It shouldn't have amazed him that Clarice had gone through with the pregnancy, but it did. And it was proof enough that she returned the feelings he had for her.

"She has your eyes," Clarice said, having guessed where his thoughts had wandered. "And your strange sense of humor."

Lecter absently ran his thumb along her hipbone. "It must have been hard going through it alone."

"I had Ardelia, and when she was born, none of that mattered. I did my best to keep my family life separate from work. She's worth it; all the gossip, the attitudes . . . everything. I wouldn't change a single thing, except . . ." Clarice smiled. "I shouldn't have let you leave me."

"You didn't know."

"She's so much like you, it's scary. When she was a baby, I would sit and stare at her for hours and try to see what of her was me and what was you. At one stage, it seemed like she was all you and I thought someone would figure it out and take her away from me. She was all I had left of you . . . Losing her would have killed me. Will kill me." Clarice closed her eyes, but not before a tear escaped. Lecter wiped it away with his thumb. "I'm worried about her."

"So am I." He brushed her hair away from her face. "We'll fix this."

They had to come up with a plan; they had to find out where Emma was and who had known about Union Station.

"But," he thought as Clarice pulled him closer, "that could wait a little bit longer."

* * *

It didn't surprise Ardelia that Kersh had been keeping tabs on Clarice. At this point in her life, it took a lot to surprise her. She allowed herself to smile; it was just like Kersh to underestimate her because she was a woman. There was no earthly way he could prove Ardelia's involvement in Clarice's disappearance. Ardelia had known someone would be watching Clarice once the ad was printed. There were other ways she could have contacted her friend, but she had chosen to go to Clarice's house.

Ardelia glanced at the mirror and wondered if Kersh was on the other side. _"What was I doing there? She's my best friend, she was upset about the ad, I was worried, I wanted to see how she was doing."_

Or she could be defensive: _"Yes, the reason I went there was to tell my friend I was happy she would be seeing Lecter again. Wouldn't you want your best friend to date a psychopathic serial killer?"_

Kersh couldn't hold her much longer without actually charging her with anything. She hoped Clarice still had her cellphone on her.

__

"No, I had no idea Clarice was planning on seeing Lecter again." Yes, she thought, denying everything was probably the best way to go.

Ardelia's gaze drifted towards the mirror again as she began mentally composing her letter of complaint about Kersh's handling of the case.

* * *

This wasn't playing out the way Kersh had hoped. He held the ballistics report of Clarice's gun in his hand; it had not been fired.

He dismissed the messenger with a wave of his hand and let the report fall to his desk. He had to get to Virginia and talk to Emma Starling.

On his way to the elevator, he ran into the Director, who looked less than pleased to see him.

"Ed, you got a minute?"

Kersh nodded.

"Good. What's this I hear about Ardelia Mapp being taken into custody?"

* * *

A beeping noise woke Clarice. She rummaged through her bag until she found her phone. When she saw the message from Ardelia, she smiled.

E AT SH IN VA. EML LTR. AM.

Clarice turned to Lecter, her expression telling him all he needed to know. "Good news?"

"Ardelia says Emma's at a safe house in Virginia. She'll email later with the details."

Lecter took Clarice's hand and drew her close. "Can we trust her?"

"Yes. Absolutely. With my life."

"With Emma's life?"

"Yes!" She did not hesitate to answer.

"Alright. But, Clarice, someone knew about Union Station."

Clarice shivered suddenly. "It wasn't Ardelia. She wouldn't do that." 

But the doubt remained in her mind.


	11. eleven

A/N: Sorry. Real life's been keeping me pretty busy. Thanks to Susan for betaing.

Joe Freeman stood at the doorway to the living room and studied Emma. The girl was curled up on the couch, crossword and pen in hand. She seemed in better spirits than when they'd left the hospital, though she was still pale and he noticed the pen trembling slightly in her hand.

"Shouldn't you use a pencil?"

Emma shook her head and replied without looking up. "I don't make mistakes."

Freeman smiled. Emma was unlike any teenager he had ever met. She was also more polite than most adults he knew. He sat on the couch opposite her and made no secret of his perusal. Freeman had seen photographs of a young Hannibal Lecter and, if he looked carefully, he could see him in Emma. Though she was still young, it was obvious that she would be beautiful one day, and Freeman could only hope that her life was easier than her mother's. Not that he was sympathizing with Clarice, he thought with a smile. He couldn't allow himself to do that, not until he knew for sure that she was innocent in this whole mess.

Emma tucked her hair behind her ear, giving Freeman a glimpse of her cut, and he was reminded why he'd been given this detail.

"How's your head?"

"A little sore."

"Any nausea?"

Emma looked up and smiled. "No. I'm okay. Thanks. You're nicer than the other guy."

He chuckled. "We're not all bad, you know."

"What, government agents? Or men in general?"

He didn't know how to answer until he heard her soft laughter. "Sorry. I've just always wanted to use that line on someone."

He let himself laugh as well. "No problem."

He could almost forget whose blood ran through her veins. In this instant, she seemed like a regular kid. He wanted very badly for her to get the chance to be a regular kid.

"So, how long do we have to stay here?" Emma asked.

"Until it's safe to leave."

Emma's expression darkened. "You mean, until they find my parents."

"Well . . ." He couldn't lie to her. "Yeah."

"Yeah."

"Emma . . . I know this must be hard on you. If you want to talk about it, you can."

Emma stared at him for a long moment, then slowly shook her head. "It's okay."

"Okay. Well, I'm going to make some coffee. Can I get you anything?"

"No, thanks, I think I'll just take a nap. Is it okay for me to sleep? I read somewhere that—"

"Yeah. As long as you weren't lying about that headache."

She flashed him a grin. "No, sir."

"Good. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."

Not ten minutes later, there was the sound of a car pulling up outside. Freeman held his weapon ready and went to answer the door. He relaxed when he saw it was just Kersh.

"She's sleeping."

Kersh pushed past Freeman; he had not come all this way for nothing. He stopped just inside the living room and studied Emma. She lay on her side on the couch, the unfinished crossword next to her. She looked younger than her sixteen years and Kersh almost felt a twinge of sympathy for her.

Almost.

He hadn't reached his current position by giving in to sympathy. Emma was the child of a monster; he would never be able to overlook that.

"Emma."

She opened her eyes and slowly sat up. When she saw Kersh, she frowned. "Oh. It's you."

Her tone didn't bother him. "I had a few more things to ask you, Miss Starling."

"Where's Aunt Ardelia?"

"Still in Washington."

Emma glanced at Freeman, who shrugged. "I'm tired. I'm not really up to talking right now."

She reminded Kersh of Clarice then, and his patience, what little of it there was, evaporated. "Miss Starling, right now your mother is somewhere with a psychopath. If she went with him willingly, then fine. We'll deal with that when we find them. But if he kidnapped her, she could already be dead. If by some chance she is still alive, we're going to need all the help we can get to find her before he hurts her."

Emma said nothing, but Kersh could see that his words had had an impact on her. She stared past him and chewed on her thumbnail.

"Emma?"

She met his gaze and something in the maroon depths of her eyes made Kersh look away. "Mr. Kersh, I really don't see how I can help you. I didn't see anything. I don't even remember getting knocked unconscious."

"But surely you can tell me what you and your mother were doing there?"

"You'd have to ask my mother."

"She didn't tell you?"

"No."

Kersh found that very hard to believe. He turned to Freeman. "Could you give us a minute?"

Freeman didn't look happy, but left the room. Kersh turned back to Emma.

"Don't you want to see your mother again?"

"Of course I do."

"So why won't you help me?"

Emma hugged her arms to her chest. "I don't know anything."

"I'm sure you know more than you realize." Kersh gave what was meant to be a reassuring smile. "Did your mother ever talk about Hannibal Lecter?"

"No."

"Did you know he was your father?"

Emma bit her bottom lip. Kersh thought she was beginning to crack. He leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees.

"You can trust me, Emma. I want to help you."

"I figured it out."

"When?"

"A couple of days ago. I asked her if it was true and she said yes."

"'She' meaning your mother?"

"Yes."

"And then she tried to contact him?"

"I . . . I don't know. Can we do this later, please? I'm really tired . . . and my head . . ."

"Just one more question. Did you and your mother go to Union Station to meet Hannibal Lecter?"

"I . . ."

"You don't have to answer that, Emma." Ardelia stood in the doorway, her arms crossed, her face a mask of anger.

Kersh jumped to his feet. "Agent Mapp! You do not have clearance to be here. You—"

"I met with the Director after you and I spoke. I expressed my concern regarding Emma's health and, in light of this particular case, her state of mind. He agreed that it was in her best interests if I stayed with her until the whole matter is resolved." She arched an eyebrow, daring Kersh to challenge her.

Kersh was silent. He stood still, his hands clenched into fists, grinding his teeth. This was the last straw! After Clarice and Lecter were captured, Kersh would make it his priority to deal with Ardelia. It was time someone put her in her place, he thought.

Anderson was giving serious thought to retiring. He didn't have the energy to deal with any more of Kersh's games. A braver man than he would have told Kersh long ago to leave him alone, but Anderson had never been particularly brave. His path to Assistant Director had been largely due to politics and contacts . . . and staying far from scandal. His one brief (though satisfying) mistake still lived to haunt him, and effectively made him Kersh's puppet. If he could just destroy the file Kersh had on him, he would be a much happier man.

Today, oddly, he was worried about someone other than himself. Emma Starling, who in another life could have been his own daughter's friend.

Clarice Starling, who could have been his friend if things had been different, who had been wronged in so many ways.

Ardelia Mapp, who was making a dangerous enemy in Kersh.

You should have taken Starling away years ago, he thought, studying a photograph of Lecter. In the picture, the monster was smiling as if he knew a secret.

And then, suddenly, frighteningly, Anderson understood. He reached for the phone.

"Kersh, it's me."

"This had better be important." Kersh sounded unhappy. Anderson couldn't help but feel pleased.

"I don't think Emma Starling is safe. Lecter's going to want her."

"She couldn't be safer anywhere else—"

"You don't get it. This is Lecter's kid we're talking about. He's going to do whatever it takes."

"Since when are you a profiler?"

"I'm speaking as a father."

Kersh's sigh carried across the telephone wires. "Lecter's an old man—"

"We can't find any trace of Barney. He's vanished. It's entirely possible Lecter killed him before going after Starling."

Kersh's voice was lower when he spoke again. "This kid is our best chance of finding him. I know he'll come for her. I'm counting on it."

"And if something goes wrong? If he kills again?"

"We will do whatever it takes to apprehend him, is that clear?"

The finality in his tone scared Anderson. "Yes."

"Good. Now, I'm still at the safehouse. I need you to go over to Starling's house and look for anything that might show us what she was planning."


	12. twelve

A/N: Hands up everyone who thought I'd forgotten about this fic? . . . Yeah, sorry about that ::grin:: Hope this makes up for the wait. Susan, thanks for betaing. Disclaimers etc. are in chapter one.

* * *

Emma was unusually quiet during dinner. She picked listlessly at the food on her plate and tried to ignore Ardelia's conversation with Kersh.

"Excuse me." She stood. Even here, the manners her mother had instilled in her as a child had not disappeared.

Freeman followed her to the kitchen. "Hey. How you holding up?"

Emma shrugged. "I don't know. I think this is the most excitement I've ever had in my life." She scraped her leftovers into the bin, then stopped abruptly and looked at Freeman. "Aunt Ardelia said my mom was shot. Is that true?"

He hesitated. "There was some blood found at the scene."

"My mother's?"

"I'm not sure, but it seems likely."

"Are you sure it's not mine? My head . . ." She trailed off.

"It wasn't anywhere near where you were."

Emma leaned against the counter and hugged her arms to her chest. She appreciated his honesty, but still . . . "It feels like I'm in a movie . . . only this is real and I'm a little . . . I don't know."

"It's okay to be afraid."

She chuckled. "I'm not afraid. I don't know how I feel." She looked at him again and her eyes were dark, unreadable. "Do you think it's wrong of me to still want to meet him?"

"Your father?"

"Yes."

She looked older than her years and Freeman wondered just how innocent she was in all of this. He was about to speak when she smiled, and suddenly she was sixteen again.

"Never mind. I'm being silly." She opened the refrigerator and took out a carton of orange juice. "You want some?"

"Is there any Coke left?" When she wrinkled her nose, he asked, "What?"

"I don't know how you can drink that stuff."

"Don't tell me you're one of those health nuts."

She laughed. "No. I just know what's good."

"Coca Cola is the nectar of the gods."

Emma raised an eyebrow but poured him a glass. "Your poison, sir."

"Thank you." As he took a sip, he wondered, considering her genes, just how much of a joke that was. Almost immediately, he told himself he was being stupid.

The argument between Kersh and Ardelia had heated up and Emma and Freeman could hear them in the kitchen.

"I don't care if the order came from the president himself, I will not let you use Emma as bait!"

"What other choice do we have?"

"I will not compromise Emma's life!"

"Lecter will come after her. She'll be safer if we do things my way—"

"No. Find another way."

Then everything went quiet. Kersh came into the kitchen. "You ready to go, Emma?"

"Go where?"

"A different safe house."

Emma looked past Kersh. "Where's Aunt Ardelia?"

"She's busy with a phone call. She isn't coming with us."

Emma took a step backwards, not fully trusting Kersh. "Why not?"

"She needs to head back to DC."

"Aunt Ardelia!"

"Come on, Emma. We need to leave." Kersh lost all pretense of patience. He took a step towards Emma.

The lights went out.

* * *

It felt strange to be in Clarice Starling's house. Though he knew no one was there, Anderson still expected someone to walk out of the kitchen and demand to know what he was doing there.

He wished he had the answer. He wished he'd told Kersh to shove his request up his ass.

He wished a lot of things.

The more he thought about this situation, the more uneasy he felt. Something was not quite right, and Anderson was sure it had everything to do with Kersh.

He should have stood up to Kersh a long time ago.

Still, Kersh had told Anderson to go to Clarice's house, and here he was.

After an hour of searching through letters and old editions of the 'Tattler', all Anderson knew for sure was that Clarice Starling had an unhealthy interest in Lecter. Try as he might, it was impossible for him to picture Clarice and Lecter having sex. If it weren't for Emma, Anderson would have sworn it had never happened.

It didn't occur to him that all he knew of Clarice was the woman he saw at work. He knew nothing of the real Clarice, of all that she'd endured and why she'd chosen this particular path. That he knew almost nothing about her didn't phase him. All that mattered was that, like him, she was on Kersh's bad list, and that made them alike.

It wasn't a conscious decision to help her. In fact, it had more to do with Anderson's own agenda than any interest for Clarice's well being.

Clarice had one more ally, but it was too little, too late. Everything was already in motion.

* * *

Clarice didn't really consider herself a violent woman. True, she had killed before, but always in the line of duty. She considered the events of Muskrat Farm as part of her duty. There were few moments in her life where she had felt rage strong enough to kill. Muskrat Farm had been one such instance, and only now was she beginning to allow herself to understand why she'd felt that way.

When she'd learned that Kersh had taken her daughter to a safe house, she'd felt that same rage. Like a mother bear defending her young, every protective instinct in her rose to the surface and she would let nothing stand in the way of getting Emma back.

For such a complicated operation, the plan was relatively simple. But, like almost everything else in Clarice's life, Fate had other ideas.

The safe house was not nearly as safe as Kersh thought. Using the groundplans Ardelia had emailed to Clarice, she and Lecter knew exactly where everything was. It took ten minutes to sneak onto the property and cut the power. There was an open window on the north side of the house that they climbed through. They knew Ardelia would assist them in their escape and she'd assured them that Freeman's primary concern would be Emma's safety. Kersh was a problem they would both be happy to take care of.

What they didn't count on was Emma's own escape plan.

* * *

The lights went out. Kersh knew immediately that something was wrong. Rather than panic, he felt the thrill of anticipation. He would catch Lecter and Clarice and he would be a hero. Nothing would stand in his way of becoming Director.

Of course, he assumed everything would go his way. He was wrong, and it was a fatal mistake.

He heard a noise at the kitchen door. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, he saw a figure slip out. He took a step forward then felt an arm around his throat and the barrel of a gun against his temple.

Clarice's voice was low and deadly in his ear. "Where is she?"

Kersh's next mistake was thinking that Clarice was afraid of him. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in, Agent Starling?"

Freeman moved towards them. Kersh smiled, certain that he would easily disarm Clarice. His smile faded as Clarice swung her weapon in Freeman's direction.

"Don't move!"

Freeman put his gun on the counter, raised his hands and stepped backwards.

Idiot, Kersh thought. Did Freeman really think Clarice could hit him in the dark?

"Put the gun down, Agent Starling. Turn yourself in and I can help you."

Clarice chuckled. "You'd sooner see Ardelia as Director than help me."

"Agent Starling—"

Her hold tightened. "Where is my daughter? You have five seconds before I shoot you. One, two . . ."

He didn't doubt her sincerity. "I don't know."

"Don't lie to me, Kersh. I'm not in the mood for games." There was an edge of desperation to her words, and Kersh suddenly remembered she'd been shot. He elbowed her in the ribs, satisfied to hear her sharp indrawn breath. She released him, doubling over.

"I'll take care of this, Freeman. Go after the girl."

* * *

Lecter felt for a pulse on Ardelia's neck. He'd seen a shape slumped over the dining room table and had let Clarice go ahead while he checked it out. It seemed that they'd got here just in time.

Ardelia moaned something unintelligible. Lecter left her and headed for the kitchen. He stopped just short of the door, listening to the conversation from within. When he heard Clarice gasp in pain, he stiffened. There was more talking, then the sound of a door opening and closing again. Lecter slipped out his Harpy and crept quietly into the kitchen. Kersh towered over Clarice, his back to Lecter.

"You really should have done things my way, Agent Starling," Kersh said.

Lecter moved closer.

"Go to hell." Lecter could tell that Clarice was in agony. He was right behind Kersh now. The idiot had no idea he was there, so focused was he on Clarice's humiliation.

"Good evening," Lecter said.

Kersh whirled around. Lecter was quick, and had the blade in and out before Kersh could even blink. Kersh pressed a hand to his side then raised startled eyes to Lecter's face. He opened and closed his mouth but said nothing. Lecter stepped past him and helped Clarice up.

"Are you alright, my dear?"

She nodded, though it was clear how much effort it took.

"What did he do?"

"Elbowed me. Think he may have burst the stitches." When Lecter tried to see, she batted his hands away. "I'm okay. Emma's outside. The other agent . . ."

Lecter glanced at Kersh. Bleeding out on the floor, he posed no threat to Clarice.

"I'll find her," he promised.

* * *

When Emma had arrived at the safe house, she'd decided that as soon as she got the chance, she'd run. She reasoned that her parents would have a better chance of getting to her if she wasn't being used as bait. She hadn't mentioned her plan to Ardelia, afraid that her godmother would try to dissuade her.

When the lights went out, she'd tried the door handle, half expecting that it would be locked. But Kersh had gone out to answer his cell phone earlier that day, and hadn't locked the door when he'd come back inside.

Emma ran.


	13. thirteen

Disclaimers etc. in part one. Sorry to keep you waiting. I'll try get the next one out quicker (I know I say that every time but I mean it this time. Really. I do.) Susan, thanks for betaing.

* * *

Lecter was thankful for the full moon. Though it meant he was in clear sight, it made looking for Emma much easier. He hoped she hadn't gone far; he didn't like the thought of Clarice sitting injured in the safe house. He knew she wasn't in danger. Ardelia wasn't dangerous and Kersh no longer posed a threat. But still, concern for Clarice came to him as naturally as breathing.

The farm stretched on for miles. Lecter stopped, wondering which direction Emma would have taken. Was she headed for the road or for the woods? The woods would provide cover, but if she reached the road she could hitchhike. Most frightened teenagers would run for cover.

Emma was not like most teenagers.

Besides, Lecter thought, the agent had gone off to the woods. He was certain the agent would not hurt Emma, and the most important thing right now was getting her back to the house.

He headed for the road.

* * *

Emma skidded to a halt when she finally reached the road. She was out of breath from running (at a speed that would have impressed her gym teacher, she thought wryly) and her knees were scraped from when she'd tripped over an exposed root. She didn't feel the wounds sting, or the throbbing in her temple. For now, all that mattered was escape. The sooner she was out of here, the sooner she could find a way to get to her parents.

She glanced up and down the road, praying for a car to come by.

She couldn't help wondering what Kersh was thinking right now. He was probably pissed. Emma laughed; she'd love to be a fly on the wall to see what was happening back at the house.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose; she was being watched. Very slowly, she turned around, then gasped.

"Hello, Emma."

Half-afraid that he was just a figment of her imagination, Emma said nothing but studied her father carefully. He was older than she'd pictured but there was something so familiar and welcoming about him.

"Dad?"

Lecter smiled. Emma took a hesitant step towards him, then stopped. She'd imagined this moment a thousand times but now that he was actually standing right there, she couldn't think of a single thing to say.

Doubt consumed her. What if he didn't like her? What if Kersh was right and she was in danger? What if he turned around and left her behind?

"Come along, Emma."

In that instant, the stress of the past few days finally hit Emma. He'd come for her; everything was going to be okay now. She realized that it was over and burst into tears. Closing the distance between them, she hugged Lecter.

"What took you so long?"

* * *

Ardelia slowly sat up. Her head was throbbing. The last thing she remembered was arguing with Kersh. He'd been walking around the room, behind her, then—

Bastard, she thought.

She gingerly touched the bump on the back of her head. The house was very dark.

Emma. She had to find Emma.

She stood and felt her way to the kitchen. By the time she reached it, she could see well enough to make out two figures. One lay sprawled on the floor. Ardelia smelled the blood, and bit back her nausea. The other figure was leaning against the counter, holding onto its side.

"Ardelia . . ."

"Clarice?"

"Help . . . I need . . ."

Ardelia caught Clarice as she sagged to the floor. From this side of the room, she could see that he figure on the floor was Kersh. Though she already knew the answer, she had to ask, "What happened?"

Clarice's breathing was labored and Ardelia helped her to a chair.

"Was it Lecter?"

Clarice nodded. "He's looking for Emma. There was someone else . . ."

"Freeman." Ardelia hoped he was alright. "Okay, we need to get you out of here."

"No."

"Clarice—" Ardelia stopped when she heard the door open. She turned around, then froze. The moonlight cast enough light to reveal the features of the person who had just entered. "Emma, thank God, you're okay."

A heartbeat later, Lecter stepped inside. Ardelia instinctively took a step backwards. Emma went straight to her mother's side.

"Mom, you're here!"

Ardelia stared at Lecter. She didn't know what to say or do. Lecter was going to kill her, she thought.

"She's hurt!" Emma said, turning to look at Lecter.

"It's nothing." Clarice stood, pressing one hand to her side. "We need to leave."

"In a moment," Lecter said. He smiled at Ardelia. "At last we meet."

"Dr. Lecter." Ardelia hoped she sounded less afraid than she felt. Her hand instinctively went to her holster, but her gun was gone.

"What's that smell?" Emma looked around. "Where's Agent Kersh? And Agent Freeman?"

Ardelia tried to block Kersh's body from Emma's view. "Outside, looking for you."

Clarice leaned on Emma for support. "Let's go."

Lecter held the door open. "You two go on ahead. I'll meet you at the van."

Emma helped her mother to the door, then abruptly turned back and ran to hug Ardelia. "Bye."

Ardelia blinked back tears as her goddaughter and her best friend left. She looked at Lecter, who seemed amused.

"You really should get your head looked at," he said. "That's a nasty bump you've got. Courtesy of the recently departed Agent Kersh?"

"Yes." Ardelia licked her lips. She couldn't help being afraid, as well as a little shocked that Clarice had actually left her with Lecter. She jumped when Lecter stepped towards her.

He chuckled softly. "You don't need to fear me, Agent Mapp. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Am I supposed to just let you walk away?" To her own ears, Ardelia thought she sounded remarkably calm. "How do I explain this to Freeman? You didn't hurt him, did you?"

Lecter shook his head. "For all I know, he's still running around outside. Which means I really can't stay much longer."

"How am I supposed to explain all of this?" Ardelia gestured to Kersh.

Lecter removed a syringe from his pocket and took Ardelia's arm. "I'm really sorry for all of this, Agent Mapp."

"Promise me you'll look after them." Ardelia held Lecter's gaze even after he nodded. She barely felt the pinprick of the needle as it entered her skin. The last thing she saw was Lecter's smile before she sagged against him.

* * *

Freeman wasn't sure what made him give up his search for Emma and return to the safe house. He had a sudden feeling that something wasn't right, and he'd learned long ago to trust his instincts. Maybe Emma had decided to go back to the house, he thought, though he knew that wasn't likely.

The lights were still off. Freeman held his weapon ready as he pushed the kitchen door open.

He immediately smelled the blood. When his eyes had adjusted to the dark, he realized it was Kersh on the floor. Dropping to his haunches, he felt for a pulse and found none. He reached into his pocket for his cell phone, withdrew it and dialed 911.

His heart racing, he ventured further into the house. The living room was clear, as was the bedroom. Ardelia was in a chair in the dining room. She was too still. Freeman checked for a pulse, relieved when it was steady and strong. He checked the remainder of the house, turned the power back on at the circuit breaker, and returned to Ardelia's side.

She stirred, her eyes slowly fluttering open.

"Agent Mapp!"

"Freeman? What . . ." Ardelia tentatively felt the bump on her head, then looked around the room in surprise.

"Agent Mapp, what happened in here?"

"I . . . I'm not sure. Kersh . . ." Her eyes darted in the direction of the kitchen.

"He's dead. Were you in here the whole time, Agent Mapp?"

"I, umm . . ."

"Do you know who hit you? Was it Agent Starling?"

Ardelia's expression clouded. "Clarice isn't here."

Freeman sighed. He gently cupped her chin, tilting her head upward, and looked at her pupils. They were dilated, suggesting either that she had a concussion or that she'd been drugged. _Or_, he thought grimly, _both_.

"I saw her, Agent Mapp. She was with A. D. Kersh in the kitchen when I left to look for Emma." Freeman spoke slowly, wondering why he was even bothering.

"Clarice didn't kill anybody." Her voice sounded stronger.

"Agent Mapp, were you in here the whole time?" Freeman asked again.

She blinked up at him, studying him strangely. "I'm sorry, what?"

Freeman forced himself to be patient. This wasn't Ardelia's fault, he reminded himself. She might not know anything anyway.

"Clarice won't be with Kersh," Ardelia continued. "She can't stand him. She . . . She . . . Could I get a glass of water?"

Freeman put a hand on her shoulder to keep her from standing. "I'll get it."

Now that there was light in the kitchen, he saw Kersh's body clearly. It was then that Freeman remembered Kersh had been holding Clarice at gunpoint when he left, which meant that someone else had killed Kersh.

Lecter!

Forgetting the water, Freeman ran back to the dining room where he'd left Ardelia. If Lecter was still in the house . . .


	14. fourteen

_A/N: Surprise! See, I haven't forgotten about this story. Sorry for the loooooong wait. We're almost done. Thanks to Susan for the beta._

He hadn't killed her. He could have killed her, but he'd chosen not to.

Ardelia barely registered the arrival of the other agents or the presence of the paramedic as he crouched next to her. Lecter hadn't killed her.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" The paramedic shone a light in her eyes. "Ma'am, can you tell me what your name is?"

"Ardelia Mapp."

"And how many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three."

The paramedic gave a satisfied nod. "Good. I still want you to go to a hospital and get checked out."

Ardelia let him help her up. Anderson arrived just as they reached the ambulance. "Ardelia! Thank God, you're alright."

She looked at him without really seeing him, and numbly let the paramedic put her on the stretcher.

"What happened?" Anderson asked. "What the hell went on here?"

Freeman walked over to them in time to hear the last question. He was out of breath from running around in search of the fugitives, and there was a smear of blood on his pants from when he'd wiped his hands after checking on Kersh. He glanced at Ardelia, taking in her appearance and felt an odd protectiveness for her. He thought of how hard she'd fought to stay at Emma's side and wondered how she felt now about Emma being gone.

"Sir," he said, "I'm not sure that A.D. Mapp is up to answering questions right now."

Anderson turned his attention to the younger agent. "We have just hours before the press gets wind of what happened here. I'd like to have some answers before then."

Freeman gave Ardelia another glance, saw that her eyes were closed, but guessed she was still awake. "Sir, the most likely turn of events was that Lecter came after his daughter. Deputy Director Kersh was with her in the kitchen when the lights went out. I don't know what happened after that."

"Did you see Lecter?"

"No, sir."

"And Agent Starling?"

Freeman's hesitation was too brief for Anderson to notice. "No, sir."

Anderson sighed. "Okay. Go with A.D. Mapp to the hospital, you look like you need to be checked out too."

Freeman glanced down at the blood on his pants and refrained from mentioning whose it was. He climbed into the ambulance beside Ardelia. As the doors closed, he heard Anderson give orders to a team of agents to search the farm.

"Thank you," Ardelia said, her voice so low Freeman almost missed it.

He didn't reply.

* * *

Father and daughter stared at each other from opposite sides of the bed on which Clarice was sleeping. The motel room was far beneath Lecter's usual standards, but fugitives could hardly afford to be fussy. Emma was the first to look away, not because she was uncomfortable, but because she was concerned for her mother.

"How bad is it?"

"It's not life-threatening. The wound should heal quickly, as long as she doesn't burst any more stitches."

"Do you have painkillers?"

Lecter smiled. "Clarice doesn't like to be drugged. She says it makes her do things she regrets."

"Maybe for reasons different than what you think." Emma stood and stretched out the kinks in her back. "What happens now?"

"As soon as Clarice is mobile, we leave the country. You look tired, Emma. Why don't you get some rest?"

"I'm not tired." Even as she spoke, she yawned.

"Lie down, Emma. I'm not going to bite."

"I'm not afraid of you."

Lecter studied her for a moment. "You thought I came just for Clarice."

Emma looked away. "After Union Station, you were both gone. I didn't know—"

"Look at me, Emma."

She slowly raised her eyes to meet his gaze.

"You are my flesh and blood. If you only knew how important family is to me . . . Lie down, and I'll tell you a story."

Emma arched an eyebrow and tilted her head slightly to one side. "I think I'm a little old for bedtime stories."

Lecter gave one of his rare laughs. "This is hardly a bedtime story."

Emma shrugged and climbed onto the bed next to her mother. She lay on her side, sliding one hand under the pillow to get comfortable.

"Did you ever wish for a brother or sister growing up, Emma?"

"I wanted a little brother. Mom told me puppies would be easier to train, so we got one from the pound. Mom called him Miggs." Emma started laughing. "I just realized where she got the name!"

"Clarice has a strange sense of humor." Lecter looked fondly at Clarice, then back at Emma. "What happened to Miggs?"

"He got run over by a car."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Lecter settled himself more comfortably in his chair. "I had a sister, Mischa."

Emma smiled. "I have an aunt?"

Lecter shook his head. "She was killed, along with my parents when I was very young. It was during the war . . ."

As Lecter began relating his history – and Emma's – she dozed off. When Lecter was certain she was asleep, he stopped speaking and studied her carefully for the first time. She had lost the guarded expression she carried while awake and, to Lecter, was more beautiful for it. He turned on the lamp to see her more clearly. She had the thick, black hair of his youth, and her eyes, now closed, had the same magnetic quality. He recalled the way she carried herself, mirroring Clarice's unconscious grace.

He stroked her hair, marveling at the texture, slowly letting the strands fall through his fingers. Then he leaned forward and inhaled, committing her scent to memory. Then he took her hand and studied the faint scar from a long-ago operation. He matched the scar to his own and smiled. He moved onto her feet, cradling each in his hands, and his smile widened. She had inherited her mother's feet.

"What are you thinking?" Clarice asked, her voice still groggy with sleep.

Lecter carefully lay Emma's feet on the bed and moved to Clarice's side. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore, but I'll be fine. What do you think of Emma?"

"She's delightful. I'm looking forward to getting to know her better."

"Well, now you have all the time in the world." Clarice smiled. "We're a family now."


	15. epilogue

_A/N: It's been forever since I posted. At long last, here is the final chapter. Thank you to everyone for reading and, especially, thank you, Susan. Without you, this never would have been finished._

Epilogue

Freeman found Ardelia sitting on a bench near the reflecting pool. He hung back a moment, wondering whether or not he should approach. Ardelia's posture was stiff and she sat very still. Freeman took a deep breath and walked towards her.

"Assistant Director?"

She turned her face towards him and smiled bitterly. There was a trace of something he couldn't quite identify in her tone when she said, "Not anymore. Just call me Ardelia."

"May I sit?"

She shrugged and looked back at the pool. "How did the OPR hearing go?"

"Better than I expected."

Ardelia was silent for a moment. "You lied for me, for her."

"I didn't plan to. It just kind of happened. I couldn't take it back." He sighed. "Do you think they're safe with him, Ardelia?"

"I think . . . I don't know what I think. I'm so tired." Her mouth twisted downwards. "He told me he'd look after them. Clarice said he never lied, so . . . I don't know."

Freeman leaned against the back of the bench. "I requested that I not be assigned to the case."

"I think Clarice would have liked you. You're different than most of the other agents."

They fell silent again, each looking out at the water. Then Ardelia said, "I resigned."

"I heard." He paused. "Are you going to be okay?"

She just nodded, then stood. Giving a half-smile, she walked away from the pool. Freeman watched her go, then looked back at the water.

* * *

_Six months later_

Halfway around the world, Emma stood barefoot on the beach, watching the sunset. The waves licked at her feet and the evening breeze whipped her hair around her face but she hardly noticed. Her thoughts were on a life that felt so long ago; it was hard to believe it had only been half a year.

There were things she missed about her old life, but on the whole, she wasn't sorry she'd left it behind. Ever since she was a child, she had dreamed about knowing her father, and now that they were finally a complete family, Emma wouldn't give that up for anything.

What she'd discovered was that there was more to Lecter than the monster people saw. For the first few weeks, Emma had watched his every movement almost obsessively, and she'd learned three things. The first was that he genuinely loved her mother; more than that, he adored her, and Emma thought it sweet the way he spoiled her with gifts. The second was that he had a sense of humor similar to Emma's. The third was that he loved Emma.

She'd told herself early on that she couldn't expect him to love her when he'd only just found out about her, and she had been afraid – though she would never admit it – that there was only room for one love in Hannibal Lecter's life: Clarice Starling. Emma had never been happier to be proved wrong.

She glanced back up at the house they'd recently moved into. Her parents were on the porch, their attention focused completely on one another as they spoke animatedly. Emma watched them, wondering what they were discussing, but chose not to return just yet.

Something brushed against her foot; a starfish that had been washed ashore. Emma bent down and picked it up, studied it for a moment, then smiled and threw it back into the ocean. Then, abandoning her reflections of the past, she turned and slowly walked back up to the house, to a present and a future that were all she had ever wanted.

_The End._


End file.
